


nothing like "The Notebook."

by OfSpideRs_aNdRiddLes



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Oblivious, Pining, and they were roommates! oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-13 18:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18036944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfSpideRs_aNdRiddLes/pseuds/OfSpideRs_aNdRiddLes
Summary: Coffee Shop AU: Oswald seeks refuge in a dingy looking coffee shop from the rain, finds company in unusual places.





	1. can I help you?

  
  


First off, it was pouring.

 

Not in the cutesy little way that they portray in romance movies like the Notebook, where the rain _looks_ intense, but it’s not _leaving your skin red from direct impact_ , intense.

 

The sting left from the tiny bullets speeding out from grey clouds thick with hatred.

Oswald clumsily swiped his drenched hair out of his eyes, the gel long washed of it’s effectiveness. His eyes stung from the cold water assaulting his face, and he shivered at the waterlogged clothing clinging to his body. His suit jacket was already soaked all the way through, and his dress shirt underneath stuck to his skin as he hurried through the streets, the sun already down, and the shadows made even darker by the yellow streetlights and neon signs.

 

Finally, he found an open, 24-hour, rundown looking coffee shop.

Never would have been his first choice.

Neon green coffee cup in the window, black curtains letting a bit of the light inside filter on to the street, the glass door, a peeling “pull” sticker on the handle, hosting a colony of raindrops the black awning failed to block.

 

Briefly debating not going in, the cold that claimed dexterity of his fingers and numbed his face demanded he did.

  


The bell on the door dinged, the sound of cars driving through the rain outside that was once muted, briefly became very loud and accompanied by a gust of cold wind, then the door shut.

Leaning up from where he was crouched behind the counter working on homework, Edward hastily uncrossed his legs, bumping his glasses up his face as he got to his feet, mostly tripping on the way up, and peeked over the top of the glass case. Peering at the small man who walked in, drowning in a black suit jacket two sizes too big for him and shivering from cold, Edward felt a wash of sympathy for the late night coffee dweller, or more likely, rain refugee.

Skittering out from behind the case fogging over from the warm pastries, (fresh out of the oven, at eleven!), Edward walked over to him and picked up a towel lying on one of the tables, still clean, mind you, and offered it silently to the newcomer.

 

The man accepted the towel with a nod in thanks, and pressed it to his face, wiping the dampness from his face. Smiling shyly, the shorter man looked up and met Edward’s eyes.

“Uh, hi.”

“Hello!” Edward responded brightly. “Nice to see the rain did some good and washed in a customer.” he laughed awkwardly at his own joke. _At least someone appreciates my humour_ , he thought, as the man from the rain giggled at the attempt at conversation.

“Well, you were open at this ungodly hour, so I guess, yes, the rain did some good.” Edward smiled at him, a closed-lip thing, but the real warmth of it was in his eyes.

 

“Well then!” He slid behind the counter theatrically, “May I take your order?” wiggling his eyebrows mock-suggestively.

The man laughed again.

“Thank you very much…” he ducked down to read the name tag pinned to his shirt. “Edward, I will have some tea if you don’t mind, chai would be lovely.”

“Okie dokie, one chai coming up. Can I get a name for that order, rain man?”

“Oswald,” he rolled his eyes, laughing, “Don’t want any mix ups with your other customers.”

The café was vacant, to say the least.

Edward nodded, still smiling, and went to work while Oswald made himself comfortable at the small bar area against the counter.

 

Pulling, more like peeling, his jacket off, Oswald folded it gently over the back of the stool to his left. Pulling out his mobile, he scanned his two new notifications, one from the Gazette, the other from his flatmate, Gordon, wondering where he was.

Pursing his lips, he fired off a quick reply with the address of the shop. Next he pulled out his wallet, getting out a five and two ones to tip, even though the chai itself was about four dollars. The barista had been kind, and he was in a good mood.

 

For the next while, the two men made easy conversation from across the glass case.

Oswald learned that Edward was in his fourth year of college, staying because he liked the environment, and he is passionate about word problems and puzzles. The coffee shop belonged to his friend, by the name of Sarah Essen, and he worked night shift to allow for more time to study.

Edward, in turn, learned that Oswald had recently relocated in the city, and was now rooming with his somewhat unreliable friends since moving out from his foster mother’s a few weeks back. The conversation ebbed and flowed, both men comfortable in the silences and engaged in the speech.

 

Somewhere near two in the morning, “the witching hour” as Edward had so formally put it, the rain was quieting down as a car pulled up outside. Recognising the engine, Oswald bade his goodbye, and Edward returned to his homework.

  
  


“You know, I texted you guys at eleven. Eleven twelve, to be _exact_.”

“Hey! Watch the snark! At least I’m here.”

“Harvey it is nearing two thirty _in the morning_.”

“It’s Jim’s fault.”

Oswald snorted. “I’m calling bullshit on that one, detective.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” they looked significantly at each other from across the console when Harvey had stopped at the light a block from the apartment.

 

“Val was over.”

“Okay. I’ll give you that one.”

The two men sighed in unison before exiting the car, Harvey slamming the door a bit harder than necessary. Oswald shot him a sympathetic glance.

Five flights of stairs later, the two reached their landing, wheezing, and fumbled with keys before dropping them, twice. Pushing the door open, Oswald kicked his shoes off, internally wincing at disrespecting his Doc Martin’s, but too tired to really care at this point. Jim was passed out on the couch, in his pyjamas. The news channel was on the television, the remote on his chest, tucked under a protective arm, the sound low enough you had to strain your ears to hear it.

 

At the sight, Oswald tried to not roll his eyes out loud and wake Jim, but it was getting increasingly harder to not mask his annoyance at this point. Harvey sighed, eyes lingering on the man sleeping haphazardly on the tiny sofa. Both of them bending down to pick him up, the man in question still being too deep in sleep to notice, and dragged him over to his bed. The apartment itself had a main room, two bedrooms, and one bathroom between four twenty-something year olds, a tiny kitchen, and a dryer that sounded like an airplane engine gearing up for takeoff when working. It wasn’t much, but it was home.

 

Harvey had been crushing hard on Jim for what seemed like forever to Oswald. He can remember it in grade school, high school, pick a word and stick it in front of “school” and he could name it there, too. At first, it seemed pretty unexpected. The cool, punk-rock guy Harvey was falling for Good Boy Jim Gordon. Definitely threw Oz and a few others for a loop. But, it made sense after a while. Not that Jim noticed. But Harvey had said he was fine with it, him being used to it after years of suppression of his feelings.

Yeah, he wasn’t fine with it.

But nobody pushed him.

 

Collapsing on to his own bed, Oswald let out a groan. The feeling of clean, dry, pyjamas was infinitely better than soaked formal wear. That job wasn’t going to interview itself, and it’s not like he didn’t wear formal clothing like everyone else wore sweats, after all.

He reflected back on his day. Nothing really special, the interview went alright. Missing the train wasn’t the best, but the chai was nice. The barista was nice.

God, what was his name?

Edwin?

No, Edward.

A nice name.

 

If anybody were to wonder what Oswald fell asleep to, brown doe eyes behind nerdy glasses, and high cheekbones reaching up to curly hair would not be his answer.

 

Oh well.


	2. when everything's made to be broken

After Oswald went to bed, Harvey stayed up a bit longer making sure the flat was straightened out. Folding the blanket from the back of the couch methodically, treating the Clearance Aisle Score like some kind of royalty. Stepping into the kitchen, he emptied the dishwasher, going through the actions without really paying attention, his eyes trapped on the line of succulents in the windowsill. It started with Jim bringing one home, a two-inch tall green thing Harvey couldn’t possibly give the name of beyond “ _ succulent _ ”, and ended up with each man bringing one home to add to the growing army in the kitchen when he saw one. It’s their tiny tradition.

Smiling fondly to himself, Harvey finished unloading the clean dishes, he piled in the forks from the takeout Chinese dinner. Victor called the rest of his roommates “heathens” for not using chopsticks “like a normal person”. But hey, at least Cobblepot knows how. He just decides to not, just to spite him.

 

Lastly, he set out four mugs for the morning, arranging them so that the ones closest to the coffee machine were for those who woke up earlier. In that order: navy blue for Jim, a red tartan mug with the words “punk’s not dead” for himself, and a Hello Kitty mug for Victor. The exception to this was the deep purple mug next to the kettle for Oswald. No telling when he was going to wake up, he was as volatile in his sleep schedule as a toddler with a caffeine addiction. 

 

Yawning and glancing at the oven clock, Harvey blinked a few times at the reading of four-fifty in the morning. Shaking his head to clear it, he removed the baking sheet from the oven, knowing his friends well enough to know that at least one of them would swear loudly upon either A: not knowing its whereabouts, or B: heating the oven up and then discovering there’s a surprise 450-degree baking sheet in there.

 

Switching the lights off, he tiptoed back to his room. 

Opening the door slowly, he slipped inside before closing it with his heel. Pulling off his jeans, he climbed under the covers and stared up at the ceiling, letting sleep take him. 

 

His brain had other ideas, so it was nearing seven when he finally drifted off, the sounds of Jim already putting the coffee on in the kitchen making their way through the halls.

  
  


Fourteen minutes later, a bleary-eyed Jim was sitting on the couch, cup of lukewarm coffee in his hands when he got a text from Valerie. He had to scrunch his eyes to read against the bright screen, but made out that she wanted to meet him for coffee in thirty minutes downtown. Peering down at the navy mug in his hands, he shrugged before chugging it and getting dressed.

 

Checking the address twice, he was surprised that the building he was in front of right now was one that Valerie even knew of, hell even frequented. Run down black awnings, brick walls having seen better days, neon green coffee cup glaring out into the street. Seeing her car parked in the space right outside the door let him know that she was here, so he probably wasn’t wrong.

Pushing open the door, a tiny bell rang against the metal frame, signalling his presence to the surprisingly well attended café. A young woman behind the counter smiled at him, waving. Her immaculate red hair had a very fifties pin-up vibe, but the glasses screamed part-time librarian of some sorts. She was pretty, but not who he was looking for.

Scanning the barstools near the counter, he couldn’t find Val, but checking the booths, he found her sitting with her back to the door, two coffees in to-go cups in front of her. Smiling at her kindness, Jim slid into the seat across from her, flashing her a smile.

 

Valerie fidgeted where she sat, not meeting his eyes for long before nudging his coffee towards him.

“Hey Jim,” she started. A knot of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t looking good. First a new coffee shop, on the other side of town from where she lived. Then her car uncharacteristically close to the door, now her buying coffee before he got there.

“Val, you okay?” concern laced his voice. Feeling selfish that it may be concern for himself rather than her state of not appearing anywhere near her usual happy self.

“Not really.” she whispered, voice cracking a bit. She wiped a tear coming from her left eye.

Reaching a hand across the table to rub her upper arm, Jim bit the inside of his cheek.

“Is there anything I can do? I know it’s not much but I’m here for you no matter what and--” she laughed sadly, the sound putting him off.

“That’s the problem, Jim,” she sniffed. “You’re really too kind.” 

He waited, not wanting to break the silence. Terrified to, guessing at why she called him here.

“Jim, the reason I asked you here today was, because” she glanced up at him, then back down to her hand on the table, nails buried in the pad of her thumb and palm.

“Jim--” 

His heart stopped.

“--I don’t love you anymore, the way you need me to. I’m so sorry.” she sniffled again, balling up the paper napkin pinched between her unoccupied fingers and rubbing her eyes before standing up and leaving.

 

Jim couldn’t move.

It had been eight months they’d been together. Not particularly long, in some people’s standards. But god, he loved her.

The way her eyes lit up at a new story she was writing, the small way her eyes would sparkle at an inside joke. Her compassion for everyone she met, her kindness. 

The way she looks at him.

The way she looked at him.

 

He put his head down on the table.

It’s like his world stopped turning when everyone else’s kept going on.

 

“Hey sunshine,” came a voice from across his booth where Valerie had been moments prior. Looking up, he recognised Victor’s voice and flashed the bald man a weak smile, the effort of putting on a brave face causing him to break. As his body wracked with sobs, Victor helped him to his feet, mumbling to him senseless things to get him to calm down, to no avail. Flashing a wave to the lady behind the register, the two men exited the shop, and Victor guided Jim back to his car. 

The drive back to the apartment was quick, but Victor drove around the block a few times to give Jim more time to collect himself before facing the rest of the guys. Every now and then, Victor would look up from the road at Jim, invisible eyebrows knit with concern over his friend.

 

He had known Jim Gordon since he was five, Jim six. While Jim was always the one listening to the rules and making Eagle Scout, ROTC and all that patriotic Golden Boy shit, Victor stuck to the sides. Couple freelance jobs doing some not-so-ethical work, his work not being known to the rest of his roommates in detail, but they knew not to ask why he had guns in the floorboards and in the pots of plants around the house. The kitchen was a no-gun zone, however, but he had several extra knives stashed in weird spots. Jim wasn’t amused, but he also wasn’t surprised, so the guns could stay as long as they were out of sight. 

_ Oh, Jim, what are we going to do? _ Victor thought, pulling into the underground lot. Locking Jim’s car behind them, he towed Jim’s all-but deadweight to the elevator and back to the room. Having sent a warning text to the chat he hastily made with Harvey and Oswald, the two knew to not pester Jim with questions. Not like they would have anyway, but they provided silent support in the form of a giant group hug as soon as the door opened to omit Jim. 

  
  


Harvey was devastated. He hadn’t been the biggest fan of Valerie in the first place, but she was sweet, and she meant a lot to Jim. 

Now, Jim was a wreck. 

For the past two days he had done nothing besides lay on the couch and leave every now and then to use the bathroom. He barely slept, the circles under his eyes a heavy purple against his face. He barely ate. He hadn’t spoken in what felt like forever. The only times Harvey had seen him do anything out of routine was when he stumbled into the kitchen and watered his succulents, all twelve, before taking the one Valerie had given him and returning to the couch, tiny plant cradled close to his heart. 

Slipping his Misfits Vinyl back into its sleeve,  _ Violent World _ being one of his favourites, Harvey shouldered his bag before closing his bedroom door behind him. Glancing over his shoulder at Jim’s limp form on the couch, he sighed and left the apartment, heading to his classes for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls (highly recommend)  
> it gets better don't worry x  
> next chapter's perspective is up to you guys drop a comment with who you'd like (Edward or Victor)

**Author's Note:**

> reviews would be lovely, this will get at least two more parts, so hopefully done by early April xo.


End file.
